


The Unexpected Consequences of Amnesia

by 60r3d0m



Series: Sam Third-wheeling Winchester [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Amnesia, Bottom Castiel, Dean is an overprotective husband after Cas falls, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Everybody Wants Castiel, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Humor, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Marriage, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Only One Bed, Poor Sam, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam is a Saint, Sam is just a sweetie trying to save the world, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Switching, but predominately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/pseuds/60r3d0m
Summary: When a spell backfires and results in Sam losing a year’s worth of memories, Sam’s really not that worried. After all, Dean reassures him that he hasn’t missed much and for the first time in a long time, the supernatural world’s at peace.Except then Dean and Cas exchange a look. Except then Sam keeps seeing them sneak around at night, into each other’s bedrooms, or whispering stealthily into each other’s ears whenever they think that he’s not looking.So naturally, Sam just has to investigate.Or the one where Sam obliviously and almost single-handedly brings about the collapse of Dean and Cas’ marriage in the span of one week.





	The Unexpected Consequences of Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> This fic. was written for the DeanCas Flipfest 2018 challenge. A big thank-you to the mods for all of their hard work and dedication to seeing this challenge through and a big heartfelt thank-you to all of the cool people on the Profound Bond Discord <3
> 
> I want to especially thank the lovely artist [here](http://usarechan.tumblr.com/) who worked on the art for this fic. It's absolutely gorgeous and Dean's _beautiful_ and absolutely go see it for yourself [here](http://usarechan.tumblr.com/post/173648170770/my-piece-for-this-2018s-flipfest-the)! Please send her all the love <3 
> 
> **content warnings** : dubious consent (Cas/other in a situation where Cas is trying to lure a witch that they're hunting. Cas is always in control of the situation)

_Okay. So Sam hadn’t_ intended _to meddle. Really, he hadn’t. Heck, if Sam had known what he knew now, he would’ve never done what he had done. He definitely wouldn’t have been the reason for why a cop was pinning Dean to the wall and handcuffing him right now. And he definitely wouldn’t have been guilty of what he was currently guilty of—Cas standing in nothing but his boxer briefs in the middle of the club, hair dripping with beer, wearing eyeliner, and pleading with the police to let Dean go._

_So that’s the important thing, Sam thinks, and he just hopes that Dean will remember that._

 

 

 

 

It’s Rowena who inspects Sam first and breaks the news to them.

Fingers prodding his face, stretching his cheeks, booping his nose—a necessary part of her examination, Rowena insists—“Gone. All gone.”

She sounds a little bit too smug at that announcement.

“And this is why, dearies, we leave big, scary memory loss magic to the _experts_.”

Sam’s not exactly sure what happened. Dean tells him that he’d cast a spell on himself—something about needing _brain bleach_ after a traumatic event that he’d witnessed. So, of course, Sam’s alarmed. What could’ve been so bad that he’d gone to such desperate measures to forget? What could’ve made Sam so hysterical—Dean and Cas gulp and fidget when Sam raises that question aloud—that Sam had erased the very essence of his being, because Sam’s not an idiot, thank you very much, so it couldn’t have been anything good.

But, “Just forget it, alright?” Dean says, as if Sam hasn’t already forgotten.

And they leave it at that.

 

 

 

 

They don’t.

At least, _Sam_ doesn’t.

At first, he’s okay. It’s only a year that he’s lost, after all, and Dean tells him that he didn’t miss much. Somehow—reason probably being nothing short of a miracle—there had been no calamities, no apocalypses, and Cas had even fallen to become human.

“Really _domestic,_ ” Dean tells him, and he gets a soft, shy little smile on his face then. “Like, uh, marital bliss, Sammy.”

Okay. Weird analogy, Sam thinks, but he lets it go.

Rowena promises him that his memories will come back. Except there’s a catch. Sam has to avoid anything that could trigger recollections of anything major that might’ve happened in the past year. If he fails, “You’ll go mad,” Rowena tells him, rubbing her hands together with a wicked smile. “All those thoughts would come flooding back at once—we wouldn’t want your wee head to explode now, would we?”

Sam doesn’t like the way that Dean and Cas exchange a look then.

 

 

 

 

See, it’s that _look_ that gets to Sam.

Sam’s a sensible moose—uh, _man_ —and he definitely doesn’t want his brain to explode—it’s too valuable an asset around these parts—so he knows that he shouldn’t be doing what he’s doing.

But curiosity is a darn thing, fellas.

And it’s got Sam under its spell.

See, at first Sam tries to resist, for the sake of his sanity. But he can’t help but notice the way that Dean and Cas start sneaking around. Late at night, into each other’s bedrooms. Usually Cas tiptoeing into Dean’s, not emerging ’til morning. So it makes Sam wonder what they’re discussing, what they’re hiding that could be so triggering for him, because they’re obviously only meeting each other to have conversations that they don’t want Sam to hear. _Heck_ , it means that Dean _lied_ to him, that maybe something really _big_ did happen in the past year, and the world’s not so peaceful after all—and if that’s the case, Sam needs to prepare: gather his books, get cracking on the research.

So it’s bad, Sam knows, but one night, he just can’t help himself—he crouches in front of Dean’s door and presses his ear to the wood.

He listens.

He listens carefully.

Aaannnddd… _nothing_.

Nothing!

Sam doesn’t hear a _damn_ thing. No secret whispered conversations. No discussions about Sam’s brain state. Instead, all Sam can hear is steady breathing, as if the two of them are just curled up in bed, just casually having a sleepover together—which would be ridiculous—so Sam straightens, disappointment weighing him down, but even more so, his _curiosity_.

They must be pretending, Sam thinks. They know that Sam’s _listening_.

Sam huffs and goes back to his room like a child put on a time-out.

 

 

 

 

Okay. So Sam gets a little side-tracked in the morning. His mission to find out what happened to him immediately screeches to a halt by the most unexpected of things.

He’s making his way down to the kitchen. It’s early—abominably early even for Sam—but he’s been noticing that Dean and Cas keep getting up at this time, so it’s no surprise that he decides that he should, too. But just as he’s steps away from the kitchen, he hears their voices.

He hears his name.

So, of course, he ducks back behind the wall and listens.

“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, Dean. Mornings are disagreeable with me, you know that.”

Sam hears the scrape of a coffee mug against the counter.

“I know.” Dean’s voice is soft, “but this is the only time we can talk. The rest of the damn day—god, I can’t believe we’re pretending to do what we did for years.”

 _For years?_ Sam narrows his eyebrows. Had they lied to him? Was there a war going on?

For a long time, Sam doesn’t hear much. He starts to wonder if they know that he’s here. If maybe they’re communicating through a secret code. He inches closer and takes a peek from behind the wall.

But it’s nothing. _Again_.

It’s downright mundane.

They’re just standing together by the counter. Side by side. Dean mixing up a bowl of pancake batter. Cas idly playing with a bottle cap.

“Dean, I think that Sam could handle—”

Dean’s hand on his whisk freezes.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not risking my brother’s brain, alright? And if that means—Cas, you know I love you, but—it can’t be like...when you tore down his walls, okay? When he kept seeing Lucifer and—”

Sam sees Cas’ back stiffening. Both of them look uncomfortable.

“You know how sorry—”

“I know,” Dean says, before Cas can even finish his sentence.

Sam feels a little guilty then. He doesn’t know why he put a memory loss spell on himself, but now he thinks that this might be his fault. The last thing that he wants is Dean and Cas feuding—partly because Sam always becomes the middle man, and _boy_ , do Dean and Cas fight like a married couple.

Sam continues watching them, wondering if they’re going to talk some more about him, or if he should just waltz in now and break up the tension. But then Dean puts his whisk down and pushes the bowl aside.

“C’mon,” Dean says and he opens his arms wide. “C’mere, sunshine. I love you.”

Sam watches as the two hug it out, foreheads pressed together. Part of him’s relieved that Dean’s taking the initiative to soothe out his own problems, but another part of Sam finds it kinda weird that Dean’s said ‘I love you’ twice now.  

But Sam doesn’t get to think about it for long.

Five minutes later, something else grabs his attention.

Okay, so it’s not like Sam’s the _jealous_ type—or maybe he is, a little. But Sam’s watching them cook, watching the movement of Dean’s hands while he pours batter onto a heated pan, and then it hits him—the glinting metal—and then he sees the _rings_.

Simple gold bands. One for Dean. One for Cas.

And Sam can’t even stop himself from uttering his indignation.

He marches into the kitchen and points at Dean’s hand. Splutters a little. Dean and Cas freeze, Cas holding a milk carton midway to his mouth, Dean halfway through flipping a pancake. A unified panic seems to cross their faces, because maybe the rings are a trigger that could make Sam go mad, and their eyes—well, they might as well be deer in headlights.

“You guys got friendship rings without me?” Sam accuses.

For a moment, nothing.

For a moment, Dean and Cas seem to breathe giant sighs of relief.

But then…Dean bursts out laughing.

And Sam doesn’t understand what’s so funny. He glares at Dean for a long time, and the joke’s on him because that same afternoon, Dean drives them all with a morose face to the jeweller’s at Cas’ insistence (because, uh, possibly Sam’s feelings might have been hurt _a lot_ and Cas had noticed that), and Sam with satisfaction gets his own matching friendship ring. When Sam sees that Dean and Cas’ rings are engraved, he gets the same engravings, too—they ought to be all identical, right?

 _Profound Bond_ , Sam’s ring says. _09/18/2008_ , opposite that. And where the names _Dean & Castiel_ are engraved on the outside face—Sam makes sure that all three of them alter their rings to say _Dean & Castiel & Samuel_.

The drive back home, Sam feels good.

Dean and Cas, however, look dead.                         

 

 

 

 

Everything goes good after that. For a while. During the day, Dean and Cas seem a little too careful. In Sam’s presence, they’ll be far apart, stiff, and weirdly polite—as if they think they’re acting like they always acted. But Sam doesn’t mention it. Sam figures throwing himself into research is the best way to find out what’s happening in the outside world, and soon enough, he has a case.

“Gay bar,” he announces, when they’re having a ring-polishing session together (Sam had insisted it—he wants to make sure that their friendship rings stay in tip-top shape). “We’re going to a gay bar.”

Dean and Cas both drop their rings.

Sam tells them about the case. He tells them how men at some place called Gay Bar™ keep going into uncontrollable fits where they can’t stop dancing. It seems pretty routine—a witch with a spell, no doubt, and the three of them being single men, it’s not like they have to worry about upsetting a girlfriend if they do some flirting for the case. So Sam’s not sure why Dean and Cas decide to vehemently argue against going for the next eleven hours.

But after Sam says that he has a headache, Dean looks worriedly at him as if he thinks Sam’s head’s going to explode, and twenty minutes later, they’re in the Impala, on their way to Salt Lake City.

 

 

 

 

Okay. So things get a little weird at the motel they stay in, Sam notices.

Dean asks for two separate rooms with one bed each—or at least until Sam points out that there are three of them who need to sleep, now that Cas isn’t an angel anymore.

“Yeah,” Dean says tensely, but he looks caught off-guard, as if he didn’t know at all. “I, uh, figured two of us could bunk together in one bed. Save money. That good stuff.”

Sam isn’t satisfied.

“Then we should get _one_ room with _two_ beds, Dean. Two rooms are way more expensive.”

Dean obliges.

But he hands over the money to the front desk clerk as if he loathes his situation.

 

 

 

 

Night. Relaxing time for Sam. So he doesn’t understand why Dean and Cas look so uncomfortable.

Sam thinks that they’ll have to argue about who gets their own bed, but Dean and Cas agree to share immediately. Sam’s delighted—he values his space and, after all, it makes the most sense considering how large he is. So it’s all going good until Sam notices that they have a problem.

The beds.

They’re both singles.

Dean and Cas aren’t going to fit.

So Sam tells them as much, and Dean looks like he does a lot of the time now whenever Sam talks to him—a deer in headlights. But a moment later, he relaxes and even seems a little pleased.

“Don’t worry ’bout it,” Dean says gruffly. “We’ll make it work.”

And Sam sees exactly how Dean makes it work.

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Cas are in bed, practically spooning. Sam’s incredulous—they make it look so comfortable, as if it’s not confining at all. But despite the comfort, Dean doesn’t seem to think it’s enough. He squirms unhappily and complains about falling off the edge of the bed even though Sam can see a good amount’s left on Dean’s side. Dean closes the space between him and Cas. He shuffles and shuffles further until the two of them are pressed tight, right up against one another, and even then, “Maybe I should wrap my arm ’round you,” Dean tells Cas, until they’re practically one body. Heck, they _are_ spooning.

Okay. Sam shuts his eyes.

As long as Sam can get his beauty sleep, he doesn’t mind.

 

 

 

 

So…Sam doesn’t get his beauty sleep.

He _does_ sleep a little. He falls into a pleasant slumber, only for the sound of hushed voices waking him up.

 _Ignore, ignore_ , Sam thinks, eyes squeezed firmly shut, but the longer that he resists, the more awake that he feels.

He hears heavy breathing. Little gasps and whines and then Cas’ voice, a worked up and needy _Dean_. Sam wonders what’s up. Maybe their bed’s getting too confining. Maybe Cas is trying to push Dean off and Dean isn’t budging. But then Dean’s voice cuts in, equally husky, and, “C’mon, baby,” he says. “Come on my coc—”

Sam frowns and shifts in bed, the mattress creaking and whatever Dean says last, he doesn’t catch. But he does remember one thing.

_C’mon, baby?_

And Sam opens his eyes, only to see that Dean and Cas are staring at him, looking kind of frozen, alerted by the creaking of Sam’s mattress. They’re still pressed together under their shared blanket, tight as ever, particularly at the _hips_ , Sam observes, and Sam shakes his head at them when he sees how sweat-drenched Cas’ hair is—Dean must’ve been suffocating him all night.

But first things first…

“C’mon, _baby_?” Sam echoes.

For the longest time, Dean and Cas are deer in headlights.

Finally, Dean swallows and says weakly, “Yeah, Cas, c’mon, you baby…that was…barely a nightmare…Cas…”

Cas exhales, shakily, and then starts nodding vigorously.

“Yes…a nightmare. I…had that.”

Both of them go silent.

Sam yawns and stares at the clock. 4:32 AM. He’s too old for this nonsense.

“And Dean, look at Cas, man. He’s sweating buckets. Back up a bit there, huh? Get out of his ass. You’re crowding him.”

And Sam’s not sure why the words have such a strong effect on the two, but he’s pleased. At the mention of “Get out of his ass,” Dean shoots him a look of terror, and Cas’ eyes widen. For a long moment, the two do nothing, but when Sam says, “Go on,” Dean starts moving.

Except, Sam notices, Dean backs away at an excruciatingly slow pace. As Dean moves, Dean runs his hand up and down Cas’ arm as if comforting him, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a groan—probably one of relief, Sam imagines.

Dean swallows at the sound, several times as if he’s trying to hold back some sound of his own, and finally when they’re adequately apart, Cas lets out another frustrated sob. Sam shoots him a sympathetic look—it must’ve been really hard for Cas, so close to the edge of release, but unable to get away from Dean’s confining arms.

“Look at him, Dean,” Sam chastises again. “Look at Cas’ hard situation. He’s all flushed and shivering. You made him so hot, it’ll take him forever to cool down.”

And then Sam’s shocked.

Sam’s shocked because Dean shoots him the most contemptuous look ever. Dean grinds his teeth, and Sam, for a moment, fears for his life, but then Cas just whimpers another soft _Dean_ , probably siding with Sam’s blame, and Dean’s hatred towards Sam dissolves. Dean just looks down at Cas, needily— _what_ _a_ _space_ _hog_ , Sam thinks—and Dean reluctantly settles into the side of the bed that Sam assigned him.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles to Cas, and for the rest of the night, everything’s quiet.

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Sam wakes up to hear the shower running.

His eyes dart to the bathroom, whose door is firmly shut tight, but behind which Dean and Cas definitely are.

Dean. Cas.

In the same bathroom together?

Sam raises his eyebrows.

Of course, Sam’s first thought is that they’ve got to be talking about him. Sam hasn’t forgotten the way that he’d seen them sneaking around the bunker, trying to hide whatever had made Sam wipe his brain clean. It must’ve been something really bad, if they were constantly talking about it. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why they had resisted Gay Bar™ so mightily. Maybe there was an apocalypse brewing, and they hadn’t wanted to leave the bunker because some things were more important than a witch cursing people to dance, and Dean and Cas had maybe wanted to do some more research.

So Sam does a bad thing.

Sam lock-picks the door and opens it just a tad, so he can hear and see what’s going on.

Sam almost screams.

Screams _accusations_ , that is.

It’s exactly as Sam suspected! The water’s on, but Dean and Cas aren’t even taking turns showering or shaving. Instead, they’ve got towels wrapped around their waists and Cas is sitting up on the counter, Dean standing in front of Cas in the space between his legs. Dean’s got his hands on either side of Cas’ waist—probably to steady Cas, Sam reasons, because Cas is perched rather precariously close to the unusually large sink—and Dean’s leaning forward, mouth hovering over Cas’ ear. It looks pretty intimate, but Sam can see that Dean’s whispering _something_ (about Sam, of course), and Cas is shivering because the brush of Dean’s lips against his ear probably tickles a lot. Just as they must’ve planned it, the shower water drowns out their conversation.

Darn it.

But then Cas says something loud enough that Sam catches it.

“Dean,” Cas groans and he shuts his eyes and kind of looks like he had last night, when Sam had woken up to find Dean squishing him in the bed. “As appealing as that is—last night, Sam saw us, and if he’d realized what we were doing—it’s why he cast the spell on himself in the first place!”

Sam narrows his eyebrows.

And then realization dawns on him.

Clearly, Dean hadn’t been squishing Cas at all! They’d been pressed so tight together because they had wanted to discuss the calamity in the supernatural world that had made Sam so horrified that he’d erased his memories. Naturally, the cover of darkness had been the only way to hide it from Sam, and clinging to each other like that had been the most effective whispering method.

Kind of like what they’re doing now.

Sam grits his teeth and thinks of barging in. Isn’t it for the better? If the world’s in danger, Sam’s willing to risk the destruction of his mind if it means that they can get back to saving people, hunting things, the family—but then Sam’s jolted out of his thoughts.

Cas is squirming on the counter now. Dean’s leaning in close again, and Sam blinks—for a second, he could’ve sworn Dean just kissed Cas’ neck several times in quick succession. But then Sam shakes his head because clearly Dean must’ve been whispering more secrets about Sam into Cas’ ear.

Sam observes as Dean’s hands tighten on Cas’ waist. In fact, Sam notes, Dean lowers the position of his hands a bit, eventually lifting his right hand and resting it on Cas’ upper thigh (rather close to the crotch area, Sam perceives), and Dean starts rubbing up and down there, clearly comforting their brother from another mother—this conversation must be devastating.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the situation getting to him. Why won’t they just tell him? Sam feels _strong_. Sam doesn’t think he’d mess with brain bleach again now that he’s learnt his lesson.

Dean starts murmuring words into Cas’ ear, all the while rubbing Cas’ thigh with his hand. Whatever Dean says must be terribly traumatic, Sam reasons, because Cas squeezes his eyes shut and starts breathing really heavily, as if maybe he’s going to cry from the unbelievable horrors of what he’s hearing. Cas stutters some words, indecipherable over the sound of the shower, and Dean groans. Dean says, “Fuck, baby,” (Sam scowls at this—Dean shouldn’t be belittling Cas for being afraid) and his hand on Cas’ thigh stops in its movement, fingers now just clutching the towel on Cas’ waist, and if he’s not careful, he might just pull it off.

Maybe Cas realizes that he’s dangerously close to being exposed, so “ _Dean_ ,” Cas says, and this time, his voice sounds like a warning, if a bit strained. Dean sighs and drops his hands away from Cas’ body, mumbling something about how hard last night left him—sounds kind of sexual, Sam thinks, but surely Dean’s referring to the burdens and the hardships that had arisen when discussing the catastrophic situation that they were hiding from Sam.

Dean paces a bit then, Cas watching him. Cas keeps squirming on the counter, and soon enough, Dean’s standing back between Cas’ legs, hands on his waist once more—a good move, Sam thinks, because Cas is kind of close to falling into the sink again.

Cas lets out a shaky exhale.

And then all of a sudden, he wraps his arms around Dean in a hug.

Sam rubs his temple. He’s feeling anxious as hell. It can’t be good for the state of the world if his stone-hearted brother is hugging it out with Cas every two seconds when he thinks Sam isn’t there to see them.

And then, Dean says _it_ again.

What he’d said when Sam had last seen them embrace in the kitchen.

“I love you,” Dean mumbles and Cas murmurs an agreement.

Sam almost cries. He muffles the sound with his hand.

The world must be ending and they’re hiding it from Sam.

 

 

 

 

Dean and Cas finally emerge out of the bathroom about half an hour later.

Sam’s up and sitting in his bed, pretending to load his gun with witch-killing bullets, and when Dean and Cas see him, they freeze.

“Uh,” Dean says.

Dean pretends that the reason he was in the bathroom at the same time as his best friend was because he was teaching Cas how to use a razor. Sam doesn’t have the energy to accuse them of lying, so Sam says okay, and then he announces, “Alright. Let’s go to Gay Bar™.”

Dean and Cas exchange nervous glances.

And then they try to talk him out of it again.

 

 

 

 

It’s a little scary, if Sam Fucking Winchester’s being honest. An hour later, they’re interviewing the victims of Gay Bar™. They’re all huddled in the same hospital room, the eight of them, and when Sam and his crew enter, it’s to the sight of eight fatigued thirty-seven year old men dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Sam realizes then that if they don’t find this witch soon, these men could very well just dance themselves to death.

Sam tries to be gentle. They all have the same story to tell: seduced by a handsome man on the dance floor, always wearing a different face (Sam, Dean, and Cas frown at that), but always picking up victims with numerous tattoos.

“We only knew he was the same man because he had this move,” one man recounts and he looks uncomfortable. “He’d, er, kiss and slip his tongue into our mouths, and do this weird swirling thing. And then while we were still kissing, he’d start dancing. An hour later, we’d all start dancing, too…”

At the end of the interviews, all of the men only have one thing to say, and it breaks Sam’s heart: _Please help us_.

 

 

 

 

At 8:00 PM, they’re all dressed and ready to go.

Dean and Cas keep loitering around the motel room, making excuses. Every time Sam tries to make it out the door, some thing or other happens, always ending with Dean stating, “Uh, Cas and I probably shouldn’t go, Sammy. You got this.”

And Sam’s alarmed. Sam’s spent his whole life having Dean insist on doing everything for him in the name of protection, so clearly the world’s ending, and Dean and Cas want some alone time to strategize because doing so in Sam’s presence will make his brain go kaput.

Sam gives them one last chance to tell him what they’re hiding.

But since they don’t say anything, by eight-thirty, they’re at the bar.

 

 

 

   

Okay. So a couple of unexpected things happen at the bar.

One, Dean follows Cas around everywhere. And two, as soon as Dean steps foot inside the bar, he immediately declares that he’s going to pretend to be Cas’ husband because, “Best disguise ever, Sammy.” So Sam watches as his brother weaves his way through the crowd with both hands on Cas’ hips. It’s kind of possessive, Sam observes, but he supposes there’s no harm. In fact, Sam realizes that pretending to be taken is the best way to avoid getting hit on while they survey the bar for the witch (if it is a witch), as Sam learns unfortunately when a man saunters up to him and burps in his face.

“Cool hair, bro,” the man says, and then he suggests accompanying Sam to the bathroom. Sam only escapes when he flashes his friendship ring. Come to think of it, Sam thinks, furrowing his eyebrows, the rings _do_ bear an uncanny resemblance to wedding bands.

An hour passes and nothing’s astray. Dean and Cas are curled up together in a booth, so Sam joins them. It’s a good vantage spot for checking out the dance floor, and after having been hit on by seven different men—no less than five who had been very interested in his height and what that might entail—Sam’s all too eager to get away.

When he plops down into the seat opposite, Dean clears his throat and looks guilty. Cas is in his lap, straddling Dean (they’re really taking this disguise thing seriously), and now that Sam has a good view, are those _hickeys_ peeking up from underneath his collar?

When Sam points to Cas’ neck, Dean freezes.

Sam scolds Dean.

“Look, Dean, breaking out the make-up kit to fake those bruises would’ve been a good idea if you and Cas were sixteen maybe, but as an adult, you two just look ridiculous.”

Whatever Sam says, instead of getting more offended, Dean just looks relieved. Sam frowns, and then Dean swallows, shoots him a look, and, “Uh, well, you—you’re sixteen!”

It’s the worst comeback ever. Sam’s even kind of disappointed. His brother’s been unusually soft lately.

 _Oh god_ , Sam thinks. How many days does the world have left?

 

 

 

   

Okay. So one thing that Sam learns is that if he’s popular with the guys, then Cas is a freaking man _magnet_. The three of them fidget in the booth for a long time, silently watching the dance floor. Dean keeps throwing Sam frustrated looks, as if Sam’s done something really terrible by joining his family, and then after exactly 6.28239 minutes of fidgeting (Sam knows because he’s measured in the past the length of patience Dean always has before he bursts), Dean predictably nudges Cas off his lap and mumbles, “Gonna get us some beers, sweetheart,” and disappears with a chaste kiss to Cas’ temple.

Sam’s not sure for whose benefit the pretence was because the area around their booth is kind of vacant.

Or vacant for about three seconds.

And then Sam doesn’t know what happens. It’s like Cas is a piece of meat that every vulture wants because twenty or maybe thirty men swoop down like there’s no tomorrow. Their booth goes from a desert with a ball of hay rolling in the background to the hottest club in town—for all Sam knows, Cas is bigger than Beyoncé.

A man sidles down next to Cas in the booth. Throwing his arm around Cas’ shoulders, he grins and winks as Cas wriggles in his seat. Cas smiles, but shoots a desperate look in the direction of the bar, where Dean’s waiting (impatiently) at the counter. Sam’s not exactly sure why Cas is behaving as if Dean is his actual husband who might ward away the dude hanging on his arm, but he supposes it’s best if they want to keep their cover.

So, “Hey, man,” Sam says, and snaps his fingers in front of the dude to get his attention. “Look, my brother here isn’t single. He’s a married man, okay?”

Cas looks at Sam as if Sam’s discovered his biggest secret.

“I… _am_?” Cas says, sounding vaguely terrified as his gaze seems to shift to Sam’s head as if he’s expecting it to double in size or something. The man next to him starts laughing.

“Nice try, peach,” the man says, and for the next ten minutes, Cas is subjected to no less than forty-two pick-up lines.

When the man tries line forty-three and asks Cas, “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”, Cas’ bottom lip starts wobbling and Dean gets there.

He sees Cas’ sad face and his expression darkens.

And then Sam’s not expecting what happens next.

 

 

 

 

Sam sneezes.

Sam sneezes three times in succession, and he’s just about ready to sneeze again, but the feeling passes and then he’s okay.

He kind of wishes that he could say the same for the dude who’d hit on Cas.

Dean and Cas are curled up opposite him, and it’s kind of like they’re in their own little world or something. Cas is sitting with his head pressed against Dean’s chest, and Dean’s got his arms wrapped around him. Dean’s whispering stuff, things that Sam can’t hear over the music, but he can read their lips, and he’s clearly terrible at it, because they definitely couldn’t be saying what Sam thinks they’re saying.

 _You okay, babe_? Dean had asked when he’d chased the dude who’d hit on Cas away. _He hurt you_?

 _I’m fine, honey. I just missed you_.

 _Aw, gorgeous. I missed you more_.

And then Sam could’ve sworn that they’d argued about who had missed who more, but they couldn’t have been talking about that, Sam reasoned, because that was sappy and coupley and _gross_ , so whatever they’d really said, it surely must’ve been about Sam’s brain and the obliteration of the entire universe.  

 

 

 

 

Sam’s now in the booth alone—Dean and Cas had decided to move to the dance floor just as a really disgustingly romantic slow dance song had come on (“What better way to find the witch, Sammy?”). Sam’s feeling kind of lonely and dejected. He scans the audience from time to time, but he keeps eyeing his brother. Sam’s not sure why but something about the two of them dancing seems really familiar, as if maybe he’d seen them pull the same shenanigans with each other at a friend’s wedding or something (except that’s not possible because all of their friends are dead). Heck, Sam observes, they’re naturals, perfectly in tune. _So_ in tune that a bit of a crowd’s forming, watching the two go at it and Sam even sees the burly guy who’d tried to pick Cas up standing among the observers (but after the _show_ that Dean had given him, Sam’s not really surprised that the guy’s curious—Cas had probably gotten the kiss of his _lifetime_ and even Sam had to admit that he could use a pointer or two from his big brother—but Sam did feel sorry for Cas who’d had to endure making out with Dean just for the case).

So things are going swell for a while. A couple of hours pass, Dean and Cas insistently dancing, Sam insistently getting hit on (next time, Sam thinks he’ll get Cas to be his fake husband to protect him), and just as Sam’s ready to pack it in for the night, that’s when he hears a blood-curdling scream—another victim of the witch.

 

 

 

 

The drive back home is grim.

It gets even grimmer when the hospital calls to tell them that not only did they manage to miss the witch completely, but that two of the dancing victims are now dead, exhaustion getting the better of them.

Something needs to be done.

 

 

 

 

Bedtime sucks and Dean and Cas keep throwing looks at each other so Sam decides that he’s not in the mood to tolerate his brothers whispering about the impending apocalypse or his brain tonight.

So, “I’ll bunk with Cas,” Sam announces, and both Dean and Cas stare at him as if he’s just announced that he’s marrying the Eiffel tower.

They argue for a bit, citing Sam’s size as an issue, but Sam smirks at Dean and spoons Cas like he’d seen Dean do last night, demonstrating how they fit together perfectly, and Dean’s words kind of stall in his mouth. Sam maybe takes a bit too much pleasure out of it, feigning kisses to Cas' neck and pretending to dry-hump, while murmuring in Cas’ ear so that Dean doesn’t hear him asking to be Cas’ husband at the bar tomorrow. Sam really doesn’t want to get hit on again, but to his dismay, Cas says no to his request and tells him to stop pretending to hump him because _Dean is a jealous man, Sam_ , to which Sam rolls his eyes because, “You’re not really _married_ , Cas.” A weird look comes over Dean’s face as he watches them, unable to hear the conversation, and even Sam starts getting a little nervous. Sleep’s fitful because Dean insists on keeping the lights on.

Every time Sam opens his eyes, it’s to see Dean glaring at him.

When morning rolls around, Sam wakes up only to find that Cas is snuggled back into bed with Dean. He’s ready to be outraged, but then Sam glances at his dick, pants tenting from his good ol’ morning wood, and realizes that he kind of escaped a pretty embarrassing situation with Cas.

But it kind of makes him wonder about Dean and Cas’ morning woods when he sees them pressed up together so tight.

 

 

 

 

Dean looks like he wants to wring Sam’s neck.

And that’s not _cool_ with Sam.

“No,” Dean says. “Hell, no!”

“He’s thirty-seven like all of the other victims, Dean! That’s when Jimmy died, okay?”

“Find someone else,” Dean hisses and he moves forward, hands outstretched as if he’s going to close them around Sam’s throat. “Cas isn’t playing the witch’s victim!”

“Dean, you saw how popular he was at the club last night. Besides, it’s not your decision. Cas—”

“Cas is my husband!” Dean snarls. “I’m not gonna let him get groped by some pervert and get cursed to dance forev—”

“Oh, grow up, Dean! Just because you pretended to be his husband last night doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly got some authority! Maybe if you married him for real, I’d be a little more sensitive to your feelings, but Cas said yes, anyway, so—”

“Cas, sweetheart, you said yes?!”

“Dean, I’m a grown man, and people are _dying_.”

 

 

 

 

Sam doesn’t understand why Dean is so fashion-conscious all of a sudden.

Sam leaves Dean and Cas alone to go shopping—which is the last thing that he wants to do, because he knows that they’ll talk behind his back. But Cas’ clothes just aren’t _fit_ for seducing men at a gay bar so Sam goes out and buys some essentials. Now that Cas is human, he doesn’t wear his trench coat so often, instead opting for brightly-coloured sweaters and garments that make Sam want to jump off the nearest bridge. The only time Cas doesn’t look like a disaster is when he’s wearing Dean’s clothes, old Led Zeppelin t-shirts and tight jeans that seem to have Dean’s eyes glued to Cas’ body whenever he walks by. He’s probably missing them, Sam reasons. In fact, Sam’s kind of surprised that Dean gave his old clothes away like that. Those are his favourite shirts and Dean’s kind of sentimental.

When Sam comes back to the motel room, it’s only to get a text from Dean telling him to stay away because _i’m getting lucky sammy_. Great. They’re supposed to be undercover as gay men and Dean’s managed to find a woman to knock boots with in the span of the one hour that Sam was at the mall. Sam groans and knocks on the door, lets Dean know that he’s impatient and to hurry it up, and then he heads out to buy himself some frozen yoghurt as a reward for his suffering. He texts Cas to see where he went—maybe they can meet up while they wait it out, but Cas doesn’t answer.

After one full hour, Sam figures it’s safe and heads back.

Cas is already there, and he looks grumpy. Sam claps his hand on his ass playfully, conveying his brotherly solidarity—after all, putting up with Dean’s random sex escapades can be tough—but Cas winces and then, in a rather suspiciously dramatic fashion, doubles over. Alarmed, Sam helps him up, tries to usher him into a wooden chair that Cas seems a little reluctant to sit down on. Sam frowns when Cas winces again as his butt makes contact with the hard surface—Sam’s pretty sure that his friendly pat on Cas’ rump wasn’t _that_ hard—but Sam gets him a pillow to cushion his butt just in case. What Sam’s not expecting, though, is to find Dean equally crabby—maybe he couldn’t get it up, Sam thinks, and he smirks at the thought.

When Sam pulls out his outfit for Cas, Dean gets even more disgruntled.

Heck, Dean’s eyes _bulge_.

And then Dean goes _on_ and _on_. Why, Sam’s never heard Dean be so critical of his fashion choices before, but for Cas’ outfit, Dean kind of loses it. Sam tries to argue with him, telling him how the black leather ensemble that Sam’s picked up isn’t overly raunchy, but will accentuate Cas’ curves, the tank top showing off his nice muscles and fake tattoos and the pants close-fitting enough to show “Cas’ tight ass,” luring the witch to him no problem. But something about that statement makes Dean even more livid.

It’s only when Cas mutters the word “possessive” under his breath that Dean halts in his tracks and looks at Cas with his lips trembling, as if Cas has delivered some kind of invisible blow. Dean makes a jerky motion, as if he wants to move to Cas, but Sam’s head hurts and they’re getting late for the bar so he says as much, and Dean and Cas look at him wide-eyed as if afraid he’s going to lose his mind.

Sam makes a mental note to have headaches more often.

Soon enough, Cas is wearing the tight leather. They’ve still got to add the tattoos to his body, and Dean takes it upon himself to do that. He whisks Cas into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them, and Sam raises an eyebrow when he hears the tap running at full-blast—what are they trying to hide from him?

Sam immediately plasters his ear to the door.

And maybe, um, lock-picks and opens it a few inches wider, too.

What Sam sees is familiar enough. Cas is up on the counter again (with a pillow under his butt, Sam notes), and Dean’s standing between his legs, carefully covering Cas up with tattoos using the D.I.Y. method that they’d found online. They aren’t talking, Dean’s jaw clenched, one arm encircling Cas’ waist and pulling him closer, and Sam wonders how bad the sex must’ve been to have put Dean in such a mood.

Dean makes a lot of tattoos. A bee, Sam sees and smiles fondly. And then the words _Profound Bond_ and the date _09/18/2008_ , just like their friendship rings. Dean puts a big angel blade on Cas’ bicep, crossed with a replica of his own favourite gun (Dean’s kind of a talented artist, Sam admits). The more tattoos Dean draws, the more insistent and rushed he gets, and then he starts a _D.W._ on Cas’ neck—a friendship tattoo, no doubt—and at that, Sam kind of wants to burst in and demand that Cas get a _S.F.W._ tattoo (for Sam Fucking Winchester) as a token of their brotherhood.   

But that would mean they’d find out he was eavesdropping.

So Sam stays put where he is, crouching on his knees, and peering through the cracks of the slightly ajar door.

For the longest time, Dean and Cas don’t talk.

But then, just as Dean’s finishing the _D.W._ tattoo, Cas says in a strangely theatrical fashion: “ _Ow_.”

Sam observes as Dean stiffens up. He sets his tools down—a Sharpie—and puts both his hands on Cas’ waist. A moment later, his right hand comes up to cup Cas’ jaw—they’ve always been weirdly touchy-feely like that—and then Dean’s voice comes out a little broken (at this, Sam just raises his eyebrows, not exactly sure why it sounds like his brother’s emotional) as Dean says, “ _Hey_.”

Cas keeps his eyes downcast, avoiding Dean’s gaze, and something about that must make Dean really anxious because Dean suddenly pulls Cas into another one of their impromptu hugs. He mumbles another _I love you_ (Jeez, his brother’s getting soft), and Sam’s not exactly sure what’s up with the two of them because Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ temple. Sam tries to remember the last time that Dean had done that for him, and he can’t exactly remember. He makes a mental note to ask later and demand a brotherly temple kiss of his own.

“You hurting?” Dean says, voice thick, and Sam winces. Damn, Sam’s slap to Cas’ bottom must’ve been really something—he should stop underestimating his own awesome power. Sam should get a _Get Well Soon_ card A.S.A.P.  

But just as Sam’s about to creep away, Cas starts talking.

“Your Sharpie was a little rough.”

At that, Dean shakily exhales.

He swallows several times, and his voice is gruff again when he says, “Thought you liked it rough...thought you said it reminded you of being human now.”

“Yes,” Cas says and he’s still not looking at Dean. Cas fingers the _D.W._ on his neck. “But that was because I wanted to remember why I fell. Not because you wanted to mark me up.”

Sam suppresses a groan. His knees are really beginning to ache, not to mention he’s kind of confused. He’s not quite sure why being marked up by tattoos and being stabbed by a Sharpie reminds Cas of being human, but he supposes angels are too uptight to get body art and feeling the itchy sensation of an unruly Sharpie every once in a while is always a not-fun indication of being mortal.

Dean picks up the Sharpie and gets back to work, making the lines of his _D.W_. tattoo thicker, but Sam can see that he’s extra careful now.

“You didn’t say anything when I was poking you with my Sharpie,” Dean says. “You sounded like you were enjoying it.”

Sam frowns. Who the hell would enjoy being poked with a Sharpie?

Cas shifts on the counter, and at last, he meets Dean’s eyes.

“I didn’t realize why you were being so rough until you were done with your Sharpie...when you started playing with my Sharpie. You started asking me to refuse Sam and let more bewitched dancers suffer, as if I could turn my back on saving innocent lives. Maybe you don’t trust me with that witch, Dean. I know you think that I need protection just because I'm human, but I can handle myself. And now the soreness just reminds me of your sourness, and it hurts painfully instead of the pleasurable reminder that it always was.”

Sam’s frown deepens.

“It’s not _that_ ,” Dean says and Sam glares at him from where he is. If Dean’s been asking Cas to switch up their plan, then he’s about to get an earful. “Cas, sunshine, I trust you. I’m just worried that—”

But that’s when Sam bursts in.

Points an accusatory finger.

“I was just passing by, and Dean, what the hell, man, you trying to sabotage our plan?”

 

 

 

 

Just before they leave for Gay Bar™, Sam stops Cas by the door and applies some eyeliner. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder but sexy, seductive eyes definitely help.

Dean berates him.

“First with the stupid leather get-up and now this—damn it, Sam! Do you even know how painfully straight you are?”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“As if you would know what attracts _men_ , Dean.”

Besides, Sam has a thing for eyeliner and leather.

 

 

 

 

Ugh. Dean’s insufferable.

They’re back at the bar, sitting in a booth, watching Cas from afar as he stands somewhat awkwardly by the dance floor. Sam had suggested that he dance, but Cas had kept groaning the whole ride here, every bump on the road followed by an exaggerated moan of pain (and incidentally, the Impala swerving as Dean noticed Cas’ misery). Sam had observed that Cas was very bitter and grumpy now and only seemed to gleam pleasure from when Dean looked like he was at fault for something.

Overwhelmed with guilt, Sam had blurted, “I’m sorry about your ass!” and Dean and Cas had both choked.

“I shouldn’t have hit you so hard,” Sam had explained, and while Dean had narrowed his eyes in a lethal stare, Cas’ eyes had dawned with realization, and he’d forgiven Sam rather quickly.

“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Cas had said and there’d been an irritable edge to his voice. “I foolishly sat down on a Sharpie earlier this evening. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

And well, that had been that.

Now they’re watching Cas get hit on repeatedly.

Sam scans the dance floor every once in a while, just in case the witch doesn’t take their bait. But Cas is pretty damn popular. Heck, Sam’s very proud to say that his lascivious outfit for Cas worked out better than expected: in half an hour, Cas had been pursued by no less than twenty-seven men. Sam _is_ a little sorry on Cas’ behalf for how many men have tried to cop a feel of his ass in that tight leather, something that has Dean emitting strangled sounds from somewhere deep in his throat at every instance. After the twenty-eighth man squeezes Cas’ butt after being rejected (they don’t have all night, so only a man who expresses unusual enthusiasm about dancing is a favourable candidate), Dean gets up from his seat and starts moving towards their brother from another mother.

Sam catches him by the shoulder.

“Dean! You can’t interrupt—”

Dean shakes him off. When he looks at Sam, he sounds hysterical.

“I just wanna make sure he’s okay,” Dean mumbles, and then starts rambling about how Cas’ ass is super sensitive—how the Sharpie Cas sat down was “super big, Sam—way bigger than average!” and how even though Cas likes a big Sharpie—"not that he’s had another Sharpie to compare to, but Sam, it’s the best Sharpie that he’s ever gonna get”—and even though Cas had been pretty damn eager (Sam raises his eyebrows because _what the fuck_ ), Cas was angry and pissed off and hurting (and Dean needed to make sure Cas could handle another stranger going in for a grab).

So because Sam can’t really stop him, Sam sighs and watches Dean march off.

He sets a timer for ten minutes—after that, he’s hauling his brother’s ass. Dean immediately cozies it up with Cas, wrapping his arms around their brother’s waist and pulling him onto the dance floor. They slow dance, pressed together tight as Dean whispers into Cas’ ears, and whatever he’s saying has Cas clinging to him. Dean’s rubbing his arm up and down Cas’ back, and Sam watches with outrage as Dean sneakily nudges Cas closer and closer off the floor; Sam might’ve been mistaken about what he’d lip-read last night, but he’s a hundred percent sure of what he's seeing Dean mouth to Cas now: _Let’s go home_.

But before Sam can even make it to the couple, Dean gets his ass handed to him.

He comes sulking back.

Cas rejected him.

A moment later, another man on the dance floor approaches and Cas gives them a signal.

 _Witch suspect_.

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t take long to get the witch on his own. Cas and the man dance a bit, but soon enough, the witch is trying to charm Cas away to the restrooms, no doubt intent on making out and doing the swirly tongue thing that the other victims had described, the trigger for their uncontrollable dancing fits.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam and Dean are hidden at the entrance to the bathroom, behind a bend. The witch had locked the door to get his groove on, but it hadn’t exactly been a deterrent for Sam Lock-Picking Winchester. By the time they arrive, Cas is already pressed up against the wall, the man nuzzling his neck and singing drunkenly as he pins Cas with one hand while holding an over-sized pitcher of beer in the other.

Sam hadn’t noticed it earlier, but in the flickering light of the bathroom, the witch bears an uncanny resemblance to a _Harry Potter_ movie version troll.

“Ain’t you the prettiest thing ever stumbled here.”

Cas gives a sweet smile, as the witch starts a string of slurred compliments, all praising Cas’ beauty or his booty. That’s when Sam hears the click of the safety coming off of Dean’s gun, and it’s a good thing that he turns around, because his foolish brother’s about a second from firing.

“Are you nuts?” Sam hisses and Dean glares at him, all too eager to murder even if he claims it was just in preparation, and it’s then that Cas spots them. Sam gives him a thumbs-up and an encouraging grin to keep the ruse going. Until Cas isn’t making out with the man, they can’t be a hundred percent sure it’s the witch, and Sam scowls and tells Dean as much.

To Sam’s astonishment, Dean grabs him by the shirt collar and slams him up against the wall.

“If anything happens to my husband—”

And Sam’s just _exasperated_.

“Dean, just because you were _pretending_ to be his husband yesterday doesn’t mean—”

But then Sam trails off. There’s a glint in Dean’s eye that kind of reminds Sam of his brother’s demonic days, so Sam gulps and tries, “I have a headache?”

When Dean doesn’t budge, for a second there, Sam thinks he’s going to die. Sam’s life starts flashing before his eyes, memories of being an infant when things were so much simpler, memories of Sam’s birthday and a pizza that Dean had set on fire once when they hadn’t had cake to put a candle in—heck, Sam even starts remembering his time in the Cage as a happy memory. He’s already thinking about his pre-written self-addressed eulogy (okay, so maybe Sam shouldn’t have done that because _embarrassing_ ), and already thinking about his will stuffed under the mattress, detailing particularly to whom all of his hair products would go (hint: not Dean), but then Cas groans from whatever he’s up to with the witch and Dean’s eyes are widening frantically and then Sam’s shoved away.

Sam takes Dean’s moment of weakness to disarm him.

And then he turns his attention to Cas.

Truth be told, even Sam’s not quite prepared for the sight that meets his eyes.

Somewhere in the last forty-seven seconds of Sam and Dean’s confrontation, the witch managed to get both his and Cas’ shirts off, and as far as Sam can tell, he’s going for Cas’ pants next.

“What a catch,” the man chortles to himself and Cas smiles, but his eyes keep darting over to Sam and Dean. Or well, it _has_ to be the _both_ of them, Sam reasons, even if it only seems to be Dean’s eyes that Cas is meeting. The man starts chugging down beer from his pitcher, one hand pressed to Cas’ chest to keep him in place, and if things are getting this heated, then kissing’s about to start.

Sam shoots Cas another thumbs-up.

Just as Dean makes another strange strangled sound in his throat and starts moving towards the witch.

It takes all of Sam’s strength to pull his brother back. Dean grunts, and both of them go crashing to the floor, a ball of struggling limbs. It’s a miracle that they haven’t been caught, only a testament to how drunk the man really is because they knock over a trash can and the clatter of the metal against the door is enough to wake the dead.

“Didya say somethin’ to me, sweetcheeks?” the witch mumbles when he hears the noise and when Cas speaks, Dean freezes.

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” Cas tells the man. “I said I don’t need protection. _Trust_ me. I can do the job.”

Something about that finally puts the fight out of Dean. Sam sighs in relief when Dean stops struggling, but to be sure, Sam kind of wants to sit on him so he can’t move. It’s not possible, though. They have to be prepared for the witch, so reluctantly, he helps Dean up, brushing him off, but doesn’t return his gun (Dean’s seriously getting on Sam’s nerves and maybe he ought to make him get his annual blood test because he’s acting like—well, Sam’s not exactly sure what, but all of the _I love you_ s and random hugs and irrational behaviour around Cas, it’s definitely not normal.

Heck, Dean’s pacing starts getting on Sam’s nerves. Sam tries to concentrate, because any moment, the witch is going to plaster his lips to Cas’, swirl his tongue and Cas is going to give them the signal to shoot, but instead, Sam’s looking back behind his shoulder every two seconds because Dean seems to be having some sort of nervous breakdown.

When Sam turns back to the witch and Cas, Cas is slicking back his tight leather pants and the witch is undoing his belt.

Uh…

Soon, Cas is in his boxer briefs and the man’s leering, using one hand to feel Cas’ strong arms and the tattoos, while in the other, he continues balancing his pitcher of beer. When he reaches the _D.W._ on Cas’ neck, he plants a disgustingly wet and sloppy kiss right over it.

 _Ew_. Sam can see glistening strings of saliva when he detaches his puckered lips from Cas’ skin.

“Who’s D.W.? An ex-boyfriend?”

Behind Sam, he thinks he hears someone let out a sob.

Then he remembers that the only person back there is Dean.

But Sam doesn’t have time to pay attention to Dean anymore. Now that Cas and the troll—uh, man—are down to their boxers respectively, it’s going to be any second now…

“Lemme feel you, pumpkin,” the witch says and he starts sliding his right hand down Cas’ chest, heading lower and lower, still reluctant to put his pitcher of beer down. “Let’s dance tonight.”

Cas squirms, and when the man seems to be going in to cup his crotch, he grabs the man’s hand and deflects.

“Let’s kiss,” Cas says firmly and he looks in Sam and Dean’s direction for the first time. When he doesn’t see Dean, his face falls.

And maybe that’s why he loses his concentration, and the witch successfully presses his grubby hand up against the front of Cas’ briefs.

Cas jolts.

Cas says, "Not there," and the man jumps back, says, "Sorry, pumpkin," and starts chugging down his beer in an apparent break from his seduction.

But that’s when all hell breaks loose.

 

 

 

 

Okay. So the man’s probably not the witch.

He sniffles and cries dramatically in the corner while he tells his story—how Dean assaulted him, how everything was totally consensual and how he’d backed off as soon as he’d heard Cas say that he didn't like his groping, except Dean hadn’t given him a chance before launching himself at him.

And Sam feels truly sorry for the guy. Or well, grudgingly at first—it’s a little hard to acknowledge that they fucked up again, missing the witch a second night in a row—and then truly sorry when he remembers the shattered tile in the bathroom where the dude’s head had collided. Dean’s victim only sobs harder when he complains about how his pitcher of beer was knocked over onto Cas, and Sam’s not sure if he’s more sad about the fact that Dean pushed him into a wall while attempting to rescue their formerly angelic brother, or if he’s just miserable that he has to pay for more beer.

He’s already the drunkest man Sam’s ever seen alive.

The police doesn’t listen to Cas’ requests. They tell him that he has to come down to the station and post his husband’s bail. But since Dean and Cas had pretended to be married, they get a moment alone before Dean’s driven away.

Sam knows that eavesdropping is bad, but Dean and Cas are so absorbed in each other that they don’t even notice him, so he’s not sure if his moral offence counts this time. Sam sits up on a bar stool and picks up a tall drinks menu, hiding his face. Dean’s handcuffed to one of the immobile stools.

They’re arguing like a goddamn married couple.

“I don’t understand why you would do that, Dean! I had the situation under control. You and Sam were there! Why did you have to beat up the poor man—”

“I shoved him, okay? Not my fault he was so piss drunk that he landed—and…and he _touched_ you. He touched you and—”

Sam peeks a look over the menu when Dean’s voice breaks. Dean’s gazing at Cas as if he’s longing for something, maybe to grasp him on the shoulder in brotherly solidarity. But the handcuffs have got him under lock, and Cas won’t meet Dean’s eyes.

Cas picks up a leftover penny from the bar counter and starts to fiddle with it. He shifts on the rather hard stool and for the first time, Sam observes that Cas doesn't pretend that his ass is hurting.

“I’m having doubts about us,” Cas says. “About our marriage.”

Sam doesn’t know why but he starts feeling a little numb.

“You’re too overprotective. And it’s…suffocating, Dean. I…I feel as if maybe a break…would do us some good.”

The sound of Dean’s handcuffs rattling has Sam peering over his menu again. Dean’s jerking on them, and if he’s not more subtle, a cop’s gonna be heading over soon. But then they’re lock-picked and open and Dean’s pulling Cas into his arms.

“Don’t say that,” Dean says and he sounds desperate. “I’m just worried, Cas—I—you’re _human_ now. People can  _hurt_  you now. I just wanna make sure you’re gonna be safe.”

But, “I think it would be best for Sam’s brain,” Cas says, “if we were apart.”

It only takes that one statement.

It’s only takes that, and that’s when Sam’s brain shatters. That’s when he realizes that they weren’t pretending to be married at all.

And that’s when Sam realizes that he’s destroyed Dean and Cas’ marriage. If he hadn’t pushed Cas to be with other men, then Dean wouldn't be in this mess and they wouldn’t be having this argument right now.

The world’s maybe ending after all, but only for Dean and Cas.

Sam faints.

 

 

 

 

Sam has pleasant dreams.

Or at least they start off that way.   

He’s floating on his back in a river, and as he floats, he sees glimpses of memories of the last year. Sam smiles when he sees them, beautiful pictures drawn in the sky:

Cas falling to become human and Dean being ridiculously overprotective.

Cas getting seriously injured on a hunt and Dean confessing his love for him.

Dean and Cas’ wedding. Sam getting a dog (he wonders where it is now). Celebrating his birthday with his family and Jody Mills and the crew.

But then Sam cowers when the clouds turn dark and thunder rumbles everywhere. He shuts his eyes and tries to keep them out, when the memories turn into his nightmares.

The reason why he’d erased his mind in the first place.

An image of Dean impaled on a dildo while performing a blowjob on Cas.

Sam cries, puts his hands over his face as he floats downstream, but nothing can keep the memory away. It penetrates deep into Sam’s conscience, and when Sam jerks awake, with horror, he realizes that he still remembers.

A man offers his hand, helps Sam up off the floor, and Dean and Cas and the police officers are gone. The man leads him gently to a bathroom, and when they step inside, Sam recognizes him as the same man who’d hit on Cas the night before.

“You like dancing?” the man says.

Sam doesn’t hesitate.

After a single kiss, Sam has all the evidence that he needs to shoot the witch in the heart.

 

 

 

 

In the coming weeks, it doesn’t take long for Dean and Cas to reconcile. It doesn’t even take a night or an hour. It takes about seven minutes in a shared shower, but Sam doesn’t find that out until much later. When Sam’s brain doesn’t go kaput, Dean and Cas realize the value of good communication—of telling the truth—and Dean chills with his overprotective behaviour.

So life’s _good_ for Sam. His dog, Snoopy Doo, is back at his side, and he can curl up in a comfy seat in the kitchen and enjoy a cup of hot cocoa knowing that the world will still go on and that no one’s hiding anything from him.

Hell, a week later, Sam’s even feeling kind of inspired, thinks about how they work so hard (saving people, hunting things, the family business), thinks about doing a movie night, so with a jubilant grin on his face, he heads down to Dean and Cas’ room.

But he should’ve knocked.

Because when he opens the door, it’s only to find his brother blindfolded and gagged while sitting on Cas’ dick.

“I’m okay,” Sam tells himself, smile frozen in place. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay…”

And he is.

Because he casts a spell on himself and forgets everything all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! This was supposed to be a 2k story that accidentally turned into 10k :P I should probably also note that the last 2-3k was written without sleep because of deadlines. I'll be revising heavily in the future but for now, I hope it's not too much crash and burn.
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed our project! Thank you for reading and viewing our story/art :D Comments and feedback are always appreciated if you've got the time, and if you'd like, you can visit me on Tumblr [here](http://60r3d0m.tumblr.com) or usarechan [here](http://usarechan.tumblr.com/post/173648170770/my-piece-for-this-2018s-flipfest-the).


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